Awe-inspired

 Job:38:1-7, 34-41; Mark 10:35-45

“I hope I never recover from this; I hope I can maintain what I feel now.”

William Shatner’s voice almost broke as he talked about his minutes in space this week.  

“I don't want to lose it. It's so…so much larger than me and life…”

He’s not the only one. Many astronauts report an almost indescribable experience as they leave atmosphere, or see the earth from space, an experience that changes them.

They’re talking about awe.

That unnerving wonder, the sense of admiration and uncertainty, of marvelous fear and unsettling beauty that defies words, stops us in our tracks, upends our perspective, makes us feel small, makes us feel immersed in greatness.

That’s what God is talking about, too.

After Job has been asking for hours – or weeks, or months – for God to come explain why his family has died, his home destroyed, and his health lost to a disease that cuts him off from his community, God finally responds. 

And instead of reassurance or explanation, God says:

Think about the construction of the entire universe.

On what were its bases sunk; who laid the cornerstone when the morning stars sang together?

God goes on, invoking mysteries of light and darkness, animals and weather, the shape of the whole earth – what we hear this morning is just a taste.

God is telling Job – and you and me – to stare into the full force of a storm, stand in the center of the open ocean, contemplate the extraordinary complexity of both an ant and a whale. God’s telling us to feel in our bones and skin and souls the direct encounter with that overwhelming, creative, power and possibility that is so, so much greater than you or I.

I’ve felt it being ten feet from a lion for few moments in an open land rover, when the atmosphere shakes with thunder, in holding a newborn, at the top of a small mountain and at the foot of a big one.

I’ve felt it in prayer, and in music, and in the quiet darkness of an empty church.

I’m sure you have felt it, too, somewhere.

That’s awe.

It’s not the answer to Job’s question, really, but it’s what God brings to all of our questions about ourselves.

This shift in perspective – this sense of smallness and immersion in greatness – that frees us from the limits of ourselves – the limits of our experience, our reach, our ability and our desires.

Whether that’s what we are looking for, or not.

And that shift in perspective, where the whole universe is at the center and our sense of self disappears into wonder, that’s what James and John need – what all the disciples need – when they’re talking to Jesus today.

They’re still having trouble understanding what Jesus is about. He’s talked about giving up everything – money and possessions, traditions and expectations, life itself – and he’s just said again that he’s going to be condemned, rejected, abused, killed – and after three days, rise, (which last makes even less sense than what came before).

In that context, it’s a little ridiculous that James and John come to ask for the best seats in the victory party. For recognition and respect and access to power.

It’s ridiculous, but it’s pretty human, too.

Because James and John know that status can protect us in uncertain times. 

Status protects our ideas and egos from disrespect and awkward questions. Tenure – formal or informal – can protect our jobs, our livelihoods. Some kinds of status, like citizenship, even protect our lives in times of widespread danger, and give us extra resources to draw on in the middle of an evacuation or a pandemic. 

It’s perfectly human to look at a risky, uncertain future, and try to get some status that secures your own future. 

It doesn’t work for John and James, of course.

Jesus can’t hook them up with the status they want.

All Jesus has to offer is the power of sacrifice. Of risk and terrifying, powerful possibility. 

Of serving instead of being served.

And that’s where awe matters.

I suspect that the glory of Jesus that James and John think they want to share looks like comfort and deference, admiration and influence. It’s the glow of being special, in a world of ordinary. 

But Jesus’ glory, God’s glory, isn’t like winning an Academy Award or topping the Forbes rich list. 

It’s the eye of the storm, the furnace heart of the sun, the whole entire universe face to face with you in an instant. It’s the extraordinary, terrifying, beautiful wonder of a newborn multiplied by eight billion lives and more.

Getting close to that glory means feeling not special, but very, very, very small. 

And yet infinitely connected to greatness, to possibility, to others.

Astronauts frequently return from the awe of orbit strongly motivated to unify, to remove barriers and borders and bring people together.

Prophets and saints and ordinary people by the thousands and millions have experienced the awe of God’s glory, and been filled with the desire to be part of that love and power so much greater than ourselves.  Filled with the desire to serve as part of God’s healing, love, reconciliation and care; emptied of the craving for security, emptied of the desire to “be served”, to insist on our own importance and status.

That’s why we come to church, actually. We come together in worship to connect with the awe that immerses us in the immensity of God’s glory and inspires us to be part of God’s work; awe that heals the wounds of a world that claws for status and security, awe that makes us a small part of something greater than we can imagine.

The great cathedrals of the world were built with that awe in mind, that connection to the immensity of God’s power, Jesus’ love. 

So is our life here. 

Many of our prayers, much of our music, and the stories we study in the Bible are meant to link us to incomprehensible greatness, so that we feel the desire to share in God’s glory, not for our own sake, but to be a small, tiny part of the creative renewal of the universe, with Jesus.

That nearness to God’s glory that changes all our fears and hopes is what James and John actually want, I believe. They just don’t know how and why they want it, perhaps. Or how to speak the deepest desires of their hearts. 

So they ask for good seats.

And what Jesus promises them instead is an immersion in the entirety of God’s terrifying, magnificent, transformative healing and renewal; in his cup and baptism. 

He promises them awe.

And that magnificent, terrifying, hope-filled experience of glory is what will enable them to become “great” among the disciples – inspired to serve, not to be served. 

Jesus offers that to us, too.

Invites us to meet the deepest desires of our hearts – the desires that status and success and security can’t fill – by diving into awe with him, through him, and letting that transform us.

So if there’s a hunger in your heart this week, a hunger for anything – seek out awe.

If you can’t view the earth from space, you can look at the pictures. 

You can look at the extraordinary complexity of creation in the bird in your backyard, the uniqueness of the human person across the table from you. 

You can stand in a storm or on the edge of the open ocean or the foot of a vast mountain – or remember that time when you did, and your heart and soul were expanded. 

You can read chapters 38-40 of the book of Job, the whole of Psalm 104 – go beyond the excerpts we hear today – or read the story of creation right at the beginning of the Bible, and pay attention to the extraordinary scope of wonder. 

You can dive into the awe of music or prayer that focuses on God’s glory.

Seek out awe, and see what happens.

See what God’s glory transforms in your heart, what limits disappear from your sense of self.

Discover yourself as a small part of God’s immense, healing, powerful work.

See what happens when you’re awe-inspired.